


Garage Guardians

by WingedPegasus



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedPegasus/pseuds/WingedPegasus
Summary: The Guardians of the Galaxy meet a 1980s-styled intergalactic pop star named Ambrose (stage name Adonis), and... events... ensue. A Secret Santa Christmas gift for my friend, who created the future story Garage Spaceship and Adonis/Ambrose. :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [garagespaceship (tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=garagespaceship+%28tumblr%29).



> Peter grew up in the 80s and loves music… so it only seems natural that the Guardians should meet Ambrose!
> 
> This is based on a future story by my friend called Garage Spaceship. There aren't a lot of details available yet, so assume any plot or character failings are mine. This assumes that there is a system somewhere in the galaxy that has a planet that developed very similarly to earth, except that they became spacefaring sometime around their equivalent of the 1980s. In certain circles, Adonis/Ambrose is like the galactic version of Michael Jackson. 
> 
> Merry Christmas!!

Peter Quill hated night shift.

Of course, “night” didn't really mean much when you were traveling the endlessly dark expanse of space, but there had to be some way to differentiate the waking hours from the sleeping hours. Just like there had to be someone who stayed awake while the others slept to watch the sensors when traveling normal space between jumps. Tonight, that someone was Peter.

Technically, it was Rocket's turn too, but he always ended up tinkering with something in the background within the first fifteen minutes of their shift. That left Peter alone at the helm, trying to keep his eyes open as the constellations slowly shifted to mark their passage through space. Something sparked behind him, and Peter idly hoped that Rocket's latest invention wouldn't blow up the entire ship before he had a chance to get some decent sleep. Some decent sleep in his comfortable bed, with the pillow he'd finally found that had just the right amount of fluff...

BANG.

Peter nearly fell out of his chair at the sound, barely catching sight of the offending object that had bounced off the viewshield a moment prior. He stared incredulously as it careened off toward the rear of the ship. Was that... a person?

“What the...?” he said under his breath. “Rocket, open the airlock!” he shouted back toward the creature. “Somebody just bounced off our ship!”

“Somebody? I'm not haulin' some frozen dead guy in here!”

“Come on, it's basic human decency!” Peter said, adjusting the ships course to match up with the body.

“It may have escaped your notice,” Rocket said, gesturing to his small furry body, “but I'm not human, and I ain't particularly decent either.”

“Basic... curiosity?” Peter tried.

Rocket crossed his arms and regarded Quill skeptically.

Peter sighed. “Oh, fine—he was dressed fancy. There's usually a reward for findin' rich guys, even if they're dead.” That was only partially a lie. From the brief glimpse he'd gotten, the clothes did seem somewhat shiny.

Furry ears perked up at the thought of a bounty, and Rocket scrambled toward the back of the ship to grab a spacesuit and tether. “Well, I'm not stickin' around when he starts to thaw,” he complained. “My sniffer's got delicate sensibilities, and 'liquefying corpsicle' ain't on my list of preferred smells.”

“Could've fooled me the last time you cooked,” Peter muttered under his breath.

“I got ears, humie!”

 

* * *

 

 

A few moments later, Rocket guided a floating body inside the ship doors. The heavy outer doors of the airlock closed silently. Breathable air rushed in and artificial gravity re-engaged, dropping the body down to the metal floor with a surprisingly solid clang. “Frozen solid,” Rocket said to himself, poking at the corpse's forehead. He paused in surprise. That didn't feel quite right. Organics were mostly water, and water freezes. The skin on this guy was cold, but still... squishy. Rocket sniffed experimentally. No, that wasn't organic—that was synthskin.

His thoughts were interrupted by Peter opening the inner door of the airlock. “Any ideas who our ice cube might b—oh.” Peter broke off abruptly as he got a good look at the body laying on the floor of his ship. He met Rocket's gaze. “Get the crew.”

 

* * *

 

 

In a few moments, a particularly bleary-eyed set of Guardians of the Galaxy found themselves assembled in the cargo hold. Peter regarded them somberly. “Guys...” he stepped aside to reveal the body on the floor. “We have a problem.”

The guardians stared blankly at the corpse.

“What's the problem? Did you kill him?” Drax asked.

“What? No!” Peter responded indignantly.

“Oh. Then...?”

Peter sputtered. “That's Adonis! The god of pop? He's sold more music than anyone in this entire galaxy!”

“Wait, wait,” Rocket interrupted. “This is the cheeseball you listen to on the starwave all the time?” he asked, gesturing at the body.

“Of course it is! How is it that none of you have seen his picture before?”

“He looks...”

“--like a woman,” Drax finished.

“Well, I was gonna say 'skinny,' but okay,” Rocket said.

“His hair is very curled,” Gamora added. “And... tall.”

“I—wha—it's a look!” Peter said defensively. “This, this is the only guy in the galaxy with real style.”

“I am Groot.”

“Except you,” Peter tacked on automatically. Groot nodded approvingly and ran a branched hand over the small, mossy leaves growing from the top of his head. When he first started growing “hair” a month ago, Peter said he looked like a Chia pet. Groot was very proud.

Peter took a deep breath and sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, we've still got a problem. We gotta turn him in, but if we cart in the body of a famous pop star we're gonna look pretty guilty.”

“Why not tell them the truth?” Drax suggested.

“Oh, sure--'Officer, were just minding our own business when an intergalactic celebrity flew out of nowhere and bounced off our view shield! I swear we didn't do it!'”

Rocket chimed in from where he had been poking and prodding at Adonis' head for the past few minutes. “Why not just have him tell them himself?”

Peter looked at the raccoon quizzically. “Rocket, he's been freezing in space for who knows how long. He's not really an android, that's just part of his act.”

“You want to bet on that, smart guy?.” Rocket carefully placed a finger on Adonis' head and pressed. Almost immediately, a segment of Adonis’ head lifted with a soft hiss and slid to one side, revealing an impressive array of blinking lights and circuitry inside his cranium.

Peter stared in stunned silence for a moment, then let out a short laugh of amazement. “Well. I guess it's pretty easy to act like an android when you actually are one.”

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the advanced technology, it only took a few minutes for Rocket to figure out the problem. “Looks like whoever took him stunned 'im,” Rocket said. “But since he's not organic, it tripped a failsafe to shut down his systems. They probably thought he was dead, but all I have to do is turn the power back on.” Rocket explained as he pressed a few tiny buttons and replaced the section of skull that normally covered Adonis' circuitry.

“Great!” Peter said. “How long before--” he broke off, interrupted by Adonis suddenly shooting up into sitting position and belting out “--for Christmas is YOUUUU!”

The android blinked a few times, then looked at this surroundings. “Where am I? And who are you?”

“Uh, I'm Peter, and these are my...” Peter gestured toward the others “...friends.”

Adonis' eyes narrowed. “More kidnappers?” he asked.

“What? No, no! We saved you, actually.”

“Really?” Adonis jumped to his feet in excitement, practically beaming with happiness. “Wonderful! Thank you! How'd you do it?”

Peter shifted. “Oh, it was pretty easy, actually, we just had to...” he trailed off and decided to tell the inglorious truth. “You bounced off our windshield,” he admitted. “Rocket there fixed you. Guess you just needed a reboot.”

His face fell. “Oh. So you know I’m really an android, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to tell anyone?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “No, I don't see why we would.”

In a moment, Adonis' bubbly joy returned. “Excellent! In that case, we’re friends! Please, call me Ambrose.” He procured a pen from seemingly nowhere. “Can I get you an autograph? How about you, big guy?” He asked Drax, reaching for one of his knives as if to sign it.

Drax seized Ambrose’s wrist . “Touch my weapons and I will sever your artificial head from your neck.”

Ambrose stared at Drax and slowly, wordlessly capped the pen. He turned. “Okay, no autographs. How about I hook you all up with some VIP tickets to my next performance?” He flashed a brilliant smile and winked at Gamora. She rolled her eyes, but Peter seemed excited by the prospect of VIP tickets.

“Now that you’re awake,” Peter interrupted, “we’ll change course to bring you to the nearest starport. I assume you can contact your people from there?”

“Oh, sure,” Ambrose replied amiably.

“You want to tell us how you got in that situation in the first place?”

Ambrose sighed. “Well, a few days ago I was leaving a concert when some new guys were waiting to pick me up. They looked a little scruffy, but said they were from my agency, so I went with them.”

“You just trusted that some suspicious people you had never met before weren't going to kidnap you?” Gamora interrupted.

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. Anyway, it was pretty obvious after I got to their ship that they were kidnapping me. It was fun at first” —Gamora gave a look of wry disbelief— “but I eventually started to worry.”

“Why’d they take you? Ransom money?”

“No, they said they were bringing me to someone. I think his name was...” Ambrose opened his mouth and let out a noise no human was capable of making.

Rocket lifted his ears in surprise. “You're lucky, bolt-boy,” he said. “That idiot cobbles together companion bots from junk and other people's designs. He probably wants to tear you apart to see what makes you tick.”

Ambrose's eyes bulged slightly and he swallowed uncomfortably.

“Why did you wake up singing?” Peter asked, suddenly recalling the odd way the android had awoken.

“Oh, uh...” Ambrose actually looked slightly abashed. “See, it was a Christmas concert, and after after the kidnapping got boring, I started singing to keep myself occupied. I guess the guards must not have appreciated the free concert. No taste, clearly, but I suppose they are uncultured hooligans.” He shrugged.

Drax leaned down to speak to Rocket. “Please tell me there is a reward for capturing this being.”   
  
“Oh yeah.” Rocket grinned in his almost feral way, looking up from the terminal he had been using to check bounty listings. “A million units, plus another half for the kidnappers. Too bad we didn’t find them.”

 

* * *

 

 

Much later, Ambrose sat straddled backwards on a seat near the conn, resting his crossed arms on the back of the chair and his chin on his arms. For the past ten minutes, he had been staring intently at Gamora.

The android's silent stare finally wore through her patience and Gamora sighed, lowering the control pad she had been using. “What,” she said tightly.

“You don't seem too thrilled to have me on board,” Ambrose said thoughtfully.

“Probably because I'm not.”

Ambrose seemed confused. “Why not?”

“Professionally, because passengers are a liability. Personally, well, I'm a little outside your main demographic of teenage girls.”

On the other side of the cockpit, Drax stood by Peter, listening. “What is a demographic?” he asked quietly.

“Um, in this case, it kind of means the type of people who like Ambrose's music,” Peter explained.

“Then you are in his demographic, Peter Quill?”

Peter sensed danger and started backpedaling. “Well, that definition might not be exactly--” he was interrupted by Drax's raucous laughter.

“Ha! This means you are like a teenaged girl! How embarrassing for you!”

Ambrose smiled at Drax's infectious laughter, then turned his attention back to Gamora. “Maybe you’d like me better if I had a deeper voice?” he asked, modulating his tone lower in the middle of the sentence and startling the occupants of the cockpit. “Or maybe something more familiar,” he said, “like this?” with those last words, he spoke in a perfect imitation of Peter's tone and cadence.

“How did you do that?” Gamora asked at the same time Drax exclaimed “This is an excellent android!”

Ambrose shrugged. “I have perfect control over my vocal processor, so I can imitate anyone I've heard. I also have nearly every known language in my memory.”

“Sounds pretty handy.”

Ambrose shrugged and was about to speak, but was interrupted by a loud beeping from the ship's console. “What's that?” he asked instead.

“Proximity alarm,” Peter said distractedly, quickly taking a seat and flipping some switches.

“Why did we not detect them earlier?” Drax asked.

“That's what I'd like to know,” Peter said grimly. “Think they're friendly?”

“I don't recognize the ship,” Gamora said from her station.

Ambrose suddenly sat up straight, eyes wide as he stared at the ship on the viewshield.

A loud WHAM of metal colliding with metal rang out and the ship rocked, lights dimming dangerously.

“Okay, not friendly! What the hell was that?” Peter demanded.

“They harpooned us!” Gamora replied. “There's some sort of anchor embedded in our hull and they're reeling us in.”

“Can't we pull free?”

“It’s disabled our drive somehow. We’re stuck!”

“I’m sorry,” Ambrose said quietly. The guardians looked at him in surprise. “They're here for me.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tend to accidentally absorb the writing style of whatever author I've been reading recently, and I had started a Terry Prachett book while writing most of this chapter. So, if you notice a change in tone, that's the reason. XD (Incidentally, his writing is super funny!)

“What do you mean, they’re here for you?” Peter asked.

 

“I recognize the ship,” Ambrose replied, golden eyes wide with apprehension. “It’s the same ones who took me before. Why did they come back?”

 

“I’m going to guess their employer wasn’t too pleased when he discovered they spaced his stolen android,” Gamora observed dryly.

 

Their ship jerked again, metal groaning as the harpoon inexorably pulled them closer.

 

“Well, unless we can come up with a real good plan to save our cute little butts in the next five minutes, our new friend is going to meet that glorified scrapper after all,” Peter said.

 

Gamora and Drax exchanged a look and reached for their weapons.

 

“No, wait!” Rocket interrupted. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have a better idea than blowing them up.” He curled his lips in a feral grin and started to run toward his tool chest. “Come on, Sparky,” he called over his shoulder to Ambrose. “Time to have some fun!”

 

* * *

 

After a few moments that seemed to simultaneously stretch on to infinity and pass in an eyeblink, two events had occurred: one, the ships reached docking distance; and two, Rocket’s workspace looked like the aftermath of a natural disaster. The enemy ship maneuvered its airlock hatch into position and connected to the guardians' ship with an ominous clunk-hiss. With a puff of compressed gas, the airlock opened and several heavily armed and unfriendly looking bandits came face-to-face with Ambrose and Peter.

 

They were a motley mix of vaguely humanoid ruffians, most of which had the sex appeal of three day old roadkill and a scent to match. Their leader--or, at least, the one standing in the middle and holding the largest gun--made Taserface look like a GQ model.

 

Taserface Two: Electric Boogaloo snarled, exposing a haggard row of teeth vaguely reminiscent of a column of soldiers attempting to stand to attention after a six-day march through mud, ketchup, and--Peter squinted at a green patch--spinach leaves.

 

“ _Taserface Two--no, that_ _'s_ _too long,”_ Peter thought. “ _I’ll call him ‘Boogaloo.’ ‘Boog’ for short.”_

 

“We are here for—” Boog started to say, but was cut off by Peter.

 

“The android. Sure! Here you go.” He pushed Ambrose forward. The android flashed a smile that almost looked not completely terrified and tentatively raised his hands. The gesture wasn’t hard to miss, since he was now wearing a set of shiny gloves that appeared to be made from some kind of metallic fiber.

 

The ruffians’ jaws dropped at the ease of the exchange, which was an especially impressive expression on the bandit who appeared to have the head of a crocodile. Boog saw his chance. “Then we are also taking—“

 

“You're not taking my ship,” Peter said smoothly as Drax and Gamora stepped out from behind opposing bulkheads, both wielding absurdly large guns.

 

Boog decided he hadn't seen his chance after all. He snarled again for good measure, allowing himself the fanciful thought that his enemies recoiled in fear and not because his breath could curdle milk from ten paces. He roughly grabbed the android's arm and shoved him toward the airlock.

 

“They ain't worth our time,” he informed his crew. “Back to the ship!”

 

With another puff of gas, the airlock hissed shut—this time with Adonis, God of Pop, on the wrong side.

 

Peter leaned down toward Rocket. “You sure about this plan?”

 

Rocket smiled a smile usually reserved for large piles of money or dangerous explosives.

 

“Trust me.”

 

* * *

 

 

On the other side of the airlock, Boog handed Ambrose off to his men with another rough shove. Ambrose stumbled over the uneven grating of the floor, but his innate showmanship turned against him when he regained his balance with a flourishing dance move. From the guns suddenly bristling in his direction, he assumed the bandits must have interpreted the motion as aggressive.

 

“Whoa, whoa! No need to be violent, guys,” Ambrose said placatingly. “And gals,” he tacked on as he noticed what appeared to be a female bandit. He threw a wink in her direction. Usually that was enough to make a whole section of his audience swoon, but she only responded by shoving her weapon further into Ambrose's face. He sighed, then raised his gloved hands in a show of deference.

 

“Look, I'm here, I'm unarmed, no one's coming after me.” He used a single finger to delicately push the barrel of a weapon away from his nose. “Take me to your leader?”

  
Boog grunted. “Take him to the brig,” he growled.

 

“ _Now,”_ Rocket's voice said from inside Ambrose's head.

 

“Take him yourself, ya ugly lump” came the voice of Boog's second in command—although, if you had been looking, you would have noticed his mouth did not actually move when the words were spoken.

 

Boog had not been looking. “What did you say?” he roared, grasping the smaller alien by the collar and lifting him so his toes barely touched the deck.

 

“Nothing!” his lieutenant squeaked. “I swear!”

 

“It was Morg who said it anyhow,” another said.

 

Morg rounded on the owner of the voice. “Liar!” he shouted, shoving his shipmate into the wall of the corridor.

 

“Oy, who d'you think yer shovin'?” his shipmate demanded after bouncing off the wall, cracking his knuckles threateningly

 

A split second later, accusations and fists were flying with equal abandon as the bandits broke into a full-on brawl. In the midst of the chaos, no one noticed when Ambrose softly clapped his gloved hands together. No one noticed the soft crackle of electricity in the air that followed. They did start to notice, however, when Ambrose quietly touched a gloved hand to the skin of an outlaw's neck, who suddenly convulsed and fell to the floor like a sack of smelly potatoes.

 

“Hey!” yelled the bandit who had just been fighting the sack of potatoes. Ambrose slid forward and poked the bandit in the face with a gloved finger. With a quiet zap of electricity, he, too, jerked violently and joined his compatriot on the floor.

 

* * *

 

Back on the guardians' ship, Peter let out a whoop of excitement. “Yeah! It works!”

 

“Of course it works,” Rocket said in voice that was somehow both offended and self-satisfied.

 

The guardians were clustered around Rocket, who was sitting in front of a small screen and microphone. The screen showed Ambrose's view from the other side of the airlock, inside the opposing spaceship: lots of dirty outlaws in a barroom brawl, sans bar. Muffled “oof”s and _whams_ came from the general direction of the airlock. The whole thing had happened so fast, the ships hadn't even undocked yet.

 

“How did you set this up so fast?” Peter asked.

 

“Easy,” Rocket said. “He's an android, so his eyes are cameras and his ears is speakers and microphones. I just made 'em a little... easier to access.”

 

Drax looked solemnly at the number of remaining outlaws on the screen and shook his head. “He will never win. He is too puny.”

 

“Have a little faith,” Rocket said. “He's tougher than he looks—zap 'im in the face!” Rocket suddenly shouted into the microphone, then laughed. “Ah, that never gets old.”

 

* * *

 

On the other side of the airlock, the outlaws had begun to notice they were no longer just fighting amongst themselves. Weapons dropped and kicked out of reach during the brawl, they turned their fists to Ambrose. He raised his hands in an involuntary, protective gesture.

 

As anyone who has ever punched a metal wall could tell you, hitting an android is an equally unpleasant—and ineffective—experience. After recovering from his initial surprise at being knocked slightly off balance (and the howls of pain from outlaws cradling broken hands), Ambrose grinned, then incapacitated several opponents with quick, light touches to exposed skin and armor. A few more fists bounced ineffectually off his side and face. He touched one on the shoulder, who twitched and fell like a rock.

 

_This is actually_ _kind of_ _fun!_ He thought to himself gleefully, sliding across the deck and zapping two more outlaws with with a graceful spin.

 

As the last one dropped, he realized that only their leader remained. Boog, experiencing one of the rare bouts of intelligence that had earned him his position as leader, was in the middle of reaching down for one of the kicked-aside weapons.

 

“ _Watch out!”_ Peter yelled in Ambrose's head, at the same time Rocket shouted, _“Put your hands on the floor!”_

 

Too startled and scared to think twice, Ambrose immediately dropped down and planted his hands on the metal of the deck. Electricity traveled along the floor, up through the metal chassis of the gun, and into Boog's unprotected hands. With a violent twitch, Boog fell forward onto the deck and began to drool.

 

Ambrose straighted slowly and glanced around at the outlaws lying around him. He gave a nervous laugh, clenched his fists to disable the electric field, then ran a hand through his poofy hair in what was usually a suave gesture.

 

“That may have been my most _electrifying_ performance yet!”

 

* * *

   
The instant the guardians re-opened the airlock, Ambrose practically jumped into the ship, buzzing with excitement. “Did you see that?” he exclaimed. “That was amazing! It's like I was like an action star!”

 

“I never doubted you,” Drax said.

 

“Yes,” Gamora said almost indulgently, “You were just like the hero Zardu Hasslefrau!”

 

“Zardu Hasslefrau?” Ambrose asked curiously.

 

Peter shot Gamora a look. “Now I _know_ you're just messing with me,” he muttered.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gamora wink as she passed by. He did a double take and briefly wondered if he was hallucinating. Then, with a goofy grin stuck on his face, he started tying up the unconscious outlaws for their trip to become another half million units in bounty money.

 

“How were you zapping them, anyway?” Peter called over as he finished off the restraints.

 

“Ah!” Ambrose exclaimed. “See for yourself.” He pulled off one of the shiny gloves, then turned his hand over. Synth-skin had been completely cut away from his palm, exposing the circuitry and metal framework of the hand beneath. The guardians collectively gasped quietly in amazement and moved in closer.

 

Rocket looked very pleased with himself. “Synth-skin isn't just there to make him look pretty,” he said. “It insulates his zappy parts. Take that away and hide it with a conductive metal glove, and...” he mimed poking someone. “Bzzt.” He laughed in his peculiar, hissing way.

 

Peter nodded appreciatively, then gestured toward the cut edge of the android's synth-skin. “Didn't that hurt?”

 

“Nah,” Ambrose shrugged. “I have pain receptors, of course, but I can shut them off if I want.”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Handy feature.”

 

Ambrose pulled the glove back and wiggled his fingers, admiring the shimmer of his metallic gloves. “These are nice! Whose are they?”

 

“Oh, we got those for Mantis,” Peter said. “But you can keep them, we have another pair. They're more for function than fashion.”

 

Ambrose seemed intrigued. “Oh?”

 

“Yeah, after she joined she insisted on helping with the cooking… and she is really, truly awful with sharp objects. Seriously. We had to reattach a finger.”

 

“Twice,” Gamora sighed.

 

“Yeah, that really ruined the stew,” Peter said.

 

“I would have eaten it,” Drax said in an almost sulky tone.

 

Gamora shot Drax a look of disbelieving disgust.  

 

“That is not something I needed to know,” Peter said with great sincerity.

 

“Speaking of Mantis, where is she?” Peter changed the subject. “She never showed up through this whole shindig.”

 

“She's been in some kind of hibernation this week,” Gamora said. “It makes her hard to wake up, and she’s only awake a few hours at a time.” She gave him a look. “Did you really not notice?”

 

Peter cleared his throat uncomfortably and didn't answer. “Well, somebody should get her up. She'll want to meet Ambrose.”

 

Drax practically jumped up. “I will awaken her.”

 

Gamora raised an eyebrow.

 

“Only because her appearance is so hideous that I would not wish for one of you to gaze upon her for longer than necessary,” he said defensively.

 

His reply was met by silence.

 

“Because she is hideous,” he tacked on.

 

Gamora rolled her eyes and turned back to the datapad she was reading. “Fine, go on,” she said.

 

Drax headed out immediately. “And I told you to stop calling her hideous!” she called after him.

 

“Hey, Ambrose!” Peter said to the android. “It's a few hours to the starport; how about some music?” He held up a familiar tape labeled in his mother's handwriting. “I've got some tunes I know you'll love.”

 

* * *

 

By the time they reached the starport, Ambrose had autographed at least seven things at Peter's request, listened to Awesome Mix: Vol. 1 three times (at his request), and had spent the last hour gossiping with Mantis about celebrity news. Peter was a little surprised by how quickly they became friends. He had thought Mantis might be weirded out by her inability to sense Ambrose's emotions—what with being an android, and all—but he supposed it really didn't matter when Ambrose wore his emotions on his sleeve anyway.

 

“Oh honey, it'll never last,” Ambrose said, finishing another braid in Mantis' hair. His own hair was dotted with several short, somewhat clumpy braids. His hairdresser would have a fit, but Mantis had been so enamored with his hair—what was he supposed to do? And after he had complimented Mantis' hair, she demanded he do the same to hers, complaining vaguely about “girl time” with Gamora consisting of about 80% swords and 20% repressed emotion.

 

“Literally,” he continued. “That species eats their mates.”

 

Mantis gasped. “How horrible!”

 

“Yeah. It makes wedding dinners... awkward. But don't worry!” he said cheerily. “I'm sure they'll break up before then.”

 

“Buckle up, kiddos!” Peter called back to them. “I'm about to start the docking sequence.”

 

“Roger, captain!” Ambrose said with a smile and a sloppy salute, hopping into the seat next to Mantis.

 

“You are pleased to be back,” Mantis observed in a happy tone.

 

“Definitely,” Ambrose said, grinning. “Ha! I can't wait to see the look on my manager's face.” 

 

* * *

 

 

As they walked through the starport, Peter noted that several of the braids in Ambrose and Mantis' hair sported strands of purple or green coloring. He idly wondered where they had gotten the dye and hoped it was temporary. Not that he didn't like some color in hair, he thought, giving Gamora an appreciative glance. He just had a feeling it would look better if the dye was applied more... intentionally.

 

They waded through the crowd to the nearest bounty office, a feat which gradually became harder as shouts of “Adonis! Look!” or “They found Adonis!” and even “Hey, it's the Guardians of the Galaxy!” spread through the throng.

 

After that particular cry had bounced around a few times, Adonis realized it was directed at them and spun around in amazement. “Wait, _you're_ the Guardians of the Galaxy?” he exclaimed.

 

Peter smiled in what he hoped was his most charming way. He felt more than saw Gamora roll her eyes next to him.

 

“Amazing! You _have_ to come to one of my shows! Come on, I'll make sure you get the best tickets, backstage access, everything.” Ambrose seized the nearest person—who happened to be Peter—by the hand and dragged him ahead through the crowd, then dropped his hand a moment later as he remembered something. “Oh, and here!” Ambrose reached into a pocket and handed Peter a communicator. “This will give you direct contact to me anytime. If you ever need a place to stay, I'll set you up. And I can contact you if I get kidnapped again!” he laughed.

 

Gamora glared. “ _Please_ try to avoid that.”

 

Ambrose just laughed again. Over his shoulder, the crowd split to allow several people in riot gear to pass through.

 

“Ah, officers!” Peter called to them and grinned. “I believe we have some bounties to collect.”

 

* * *

 

When they finally departed the starport, Peter sat at the controls again and propped up a holo-image of the guardians and Ambrose, which the android had insisted on having taken. He stood in the middle with one arm looped around Peter and one around Mantis, both hands throwing a “peace” sign and his sparkling, movie-star smile on full display. Peter grinned at the image and set the direct communicator nearby.

 

He looked around the ship. Mantis had gone back to sleep, but Gamora had decided to stay up and take the co-pilot seat. She caught him glancing in her direction and gave him a small, almost-invisible grin before continuing to set their next jump coordinates. In the background, Rocket and Groot were animatedly arguing over whether they should spend more of their share of the bounty on holo-games or explosives.

 

Peter turned his attention to the console in front of him, unable to prevent a contented grin of his own from spreading across his face.

 

_Sometimes,_ he thought to himself, _the night shift really isn't that bad._

 

 

  
  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Hope you enjoyed it! Yell at me if there are any typos, I kind of just posted it as soon as I was done writing it. xD

**Author's Note:**

> The second and final part is partially written, so it should be up soon!


End file.
